Ghost Rider
by Alinah
Summary: Every year when spring is near but has not yet arrived, a ghost rider haunts the road leading to Redhorn Pass and this year, a young Aragorn will discover its secret...


Hi all,

here´s another Teitho contest story to share with you. The theme was "Lest we forget". I hope you enjoy it - every review is welcome :-)

For those of you still waiting for me to finish "Light My Path" - its´s slow going but I want to get this one right. It will take a little but I swear the story will get finished.

No enjoy!

Alina

Rating: PG 13

Disclaimer: Not even close to mine 

Timeline: Takes place TA 2949 when Aragorn is 18 years old

Note: Not AU as such but I took some liberties

**Ghost Rider**

Dusk was falling.

The world seemed to cower when the blanket of darkness slowly descended upon it, as if life itself was ducking its head in fear. Unearthly quiet befell the shrouded countryside. Nothing moved, not even the naked branches of the trees. Nothing and no-one was about but him. It was as it had been for centuries. He had returned, faithfully, as his night drew near.

The rider had been travelling for so long that he could barely remember when he had begun. It hardly mattered. His trusty steed was steadily galloping along, her hooves eating away the road beneath them, beating in a steady yet frenzied rhythm that was mirrored by his heart.

Lifting his head for the first time in hours, he saw the massive outline of the Misty Mountains slowly withdrawing into darkness. A thin smile graced the rider´s lips. If the object of his hatred meant to hide in the night it would help but little. Nothing would deter him from his task. Nothing ever had.

Before him, a few specks of light littered the land where small dwellings marked the homes of scattered human families. The rider watched them with detached interest. He knew the lights would die before he reached them. They always did and he felt it to be appropriate. As he approached, a small cry of warning rose through the young night and the first light fell away, dropping into nothingness. A second followed, then a third.

This was a night that no light could penetrate. It was a night of true darkness.

XoXoXo

The fire merrily crackled in the hearth and Estel leaned back in his chair, sighing in contentment. By the Valar, it was good to have a roof over his head again! His stretched out his booted feet towards the flames, hoping to soak up more warmth. He began to close his eyes but guiltily snapped them open again a mere heartbeat later. Stealthily, he turned in his comfortable seat and glanced back into the small tavern´s dining area.

Ever since he had begun this journey he had felt that he was being followed. More than once, he had drawn his horse to a stop in the middle of a deserted road, listening to hoof-beats behind him that never came. And even now, safely before an inn´s fire, he could barely believe that he was truly alone.

He allowed his gaze to travel over the weary faces that leaned over mugs of beer and bowls of steaming stew. There was not one face among them that looked even remotely elven. Estel wondered briefly whether his foster father would go so far as to employ humans to keep an eye on him but then dismissed the idea as paranoid.

No, he was truly on his own and he revelled in the thought. A small part of him wondered whether he had taken advantage of the gloomy mood that seemed to befall Lord Elrond at this time of year, but then shook his head. No, his foster father had not come to his decision swiftly. With the twins and Glorfindel away on other business it had come naturally to Estel to plead that he could travel on his own, that he was ready.

Even now, weeks later, Estel could still feel his foster father´s searching gaze on him, still heard the muttered "No, not ready yet…" as the elf had walked away from him. He had been certain then that his plan had failed. The thought of meeting Legolas here in the company of Imladris warriors had embarrassed him, but he had patiently waited for Lord Elrond´s decision. He had patiently hoped.

Many days later, during a rather subdued breakfast that was shrouded by the fog the late winter´s morning had pushed into the hall, Elrond had finally spoken to him about his plans.

"You may travel to Redhorn Pass alone, Estel," he had said, his voice grave, "but you are to take a horse to speed your journey. Take good care, ion-nîn." His piercing eyes had found Estel´s gaze and held it easily. "The roads are ever dangerous. Do not stray. Do not linger."

And Estel had not. In truth, the journey had been rather miserable. Winter was reluctant to leave, and even though the worst of the cold had passed nature seemed to cling to the dark time of year with low clouds, biting winds and frequent rain.

"Your food is ready, young master."

The woman´s gentle words startled Estel but he smiled gratefully as he rose. To his delight the innkeeper´s wife had chosen the table closest to the fire for him, and he sank onto his chair still basked in warmth.

"You are truly lucky to have arrived here before dusk fell, young master," the portly lady stated as she placed a bowl a deliciously smelling stew before him. "This is no time of year for youngsters to travel all by their lonesomes." She straightened, hands on her hips as she gazed down upon her guest.

Estel smiled up at her, his spoon halfway to his mouth. He was starved for something warm to fill his belly, yet he could not forget his manners. He deemed it unfriendly not to reply, even though he had the sinking feeling that the lady of the house might prove to be as steadfast a safeguard as any Imladris guard could have been.

"Aye, my lady," he replied, blushing slightly when the woman´s mouth quirked at being addressed thus, "I am truly grateful for the shelter of your good house."

"And you should be," she replied, her smile truly motherly now, "for this night is best spent behind closed doors." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Evil rides this night, young master. Better not even glance outside, let alone be there!"

"Better not talk about it either, wife," a gruff voice interfered as the innkeeper stepped closer, a frown darkening his round features. "There are more guests waiting to be served."

With a good-natured wink at Estel the woman walked away, leaving the young man to his food. Estel ate with more enthusiasm than he had in a long time, even though the meal could not rival what was eaten in Imladris. Many days of eating stale bread and dried meat in the cold would have turned even lesser fare into a king´s banquet, though, and Estel enjoyed himself silently. He felt a small twinge of guilt as he recalled that Legolas was still on the road, probably camping somewhere in the mountains right now with none but his horse for company.

The young man took a look at his own company and mentally shook his head. Maybe a fiery elven steed would actually be more delightful to sit with. Despite the wife´s friendliness, the innkeeper looked grim and his guests barely spoke. Now that hunger no longer diverted his attention, Estel noted that the room was rather crowded for an inn at such a forlorn place. There were even children present, sleeping away on blankets laid out for them in the corners.

Estel wondered whether these were all local people. Few travellers chose this time of year to cross the mountains, with winter barely a heartbeat away. Even Legolas had only decided to come this early because an errand for his father had taken him to Lothlórien and he had deemed it a waste of time to travel back to Mirkwood only to leave again a few weeks later.

"Do you have a look-out?" one of the men asked all of a sudden, his voice loud and nervous. "It cannot be long now."

"Aye," the innkeeper replied, "what fool do you take me for? The stabelboy´s in the upper rooms, far too scared for once to fall asleep on his task."

Estel frowned at this. He had heard his share of spooky stories in the Hall of Fire, but never had he encountered a group of people so gravely caught up in one. His curiosity spiking, he signalled his new chaperon for some more ale and then asked in a quiet voice: "What danger should the boy warn us of, my lady?" He could see how the title warmed her, and she answered readily enough, even though she kept her gaze on her husband and her voice low.

"It is a tale of old, young master. Passed on from generation to generation. And it´s not only us, mind you. Ask anyone along the pass road and they shall tell you just the same."

Estel smiled encouragingly, and the woman smiled back as she continued, yet her eyes had grown dark with real fear.

"At this night of year, with winter not quite gone and spring battling to break free, the ghost rider sweeps the land. He rides as if on a Balrog´s wings, his face white and drawn with hatred." She shuddered. "Never does he stop, never speak, never grant his steed a rest. People say that those who tried to stop him have turned to ashes on the spot, so much cold fire burns in his gaze." She took a deep breath, steadying herself.

"Long we have found that darkness will keep us safe. When he comes, we douse all lights and allow him to pass. We acknowledge his need for darkness, we do not stand in his way, and with any luck, he takes winter with him into the mountains and spring is granted after his passing."

She took another deep breath, and Estel was aware that every last shred of conversation had died down. Everyone was listening, even though they must know the tale. Even the innkeeper was silent, his look guarded.

After a long pause one of the other guests spoke up. "People say that whenever a farmer fails to bow to darkness, his crops will whither and his animals die."

"Aye," a woman agreed, "and one is best advised never to light the fires again too soon. During some years he tests us, tests our willingness to live in his darkness for a while. He will ride through not once but twice, always shrouded in the same haze of hatred and hurry."

"Bad years, those are," an old man mumbled, "never there was any good when the ghost rider passed twice. Happened in my youth, and many had lit their homes already. Many deaths that year, and much sorrow."

Heads nodded in consent, gazes dropping to the tables as each and every one followed their own thoughts.

Estel frowned. He wondered what coincidence could keep such a tale alive. For surely, if the "ghost" failed to appear one year or more, memory of him would fade and his tale would join all those told for a pleasant shudder, but without real fear.

The innkeeper´s wife laid a hand on Estel´s arm, alerting him once again to her presence. She still looked afraid, but there was something else in her gaze – a warm compassion that reached the young man´s heart.

"Many have wondered what causes the ghost rider´s unrest," she said softly, "and the men will tell you that he was a traitor who aided the Dark Lord against his people and was therefore doomed for his sins. And still, amongst the women here, the story is told quite differently. Many believe that the ghost rider went out to save his sweetheart. But alas, he came too late. It is said that sometimes he can be seen riding quite slowly, his arms wrapped around a still lady in his arms. He weeps as her long braids sweep to and fro in the breeze." A small tear glistened in her eye.

"If you ask me, young master, the ghost rider wanted to find his lover who had been lost in bad weather. The mountains can be cruel. And so, he now returns every year to relieve us of the burden of winter." She smiled shyly. "As much as I fear him, I am grateful that once we have passed his test spring shall bring travellers again and thus bread for my family. We.."

"The lights are doused ahead!" The excited shout of a boy shook everyone from their contemplations. Children woke, startled into crying by the noise, and were swept into soothing arms. Steps clattered loudly on the wooden stairs leading into the guest rooms, and a tousle-haired boy rushed towards the fireplace.

"I saw the lights die on the farms," he called breathlessly, "they just went out like candles in a breeze." His gaze found the innkeeper who had picked up a wooden club from somewhere and was now standing by the door, his body tense. "Shall I, master?"

"By the Valar, yes!" came the barked reply. "Or would you like to starve come year?"

Estel had risen to his feet, his own hand at the hilt of his sword before he could even register the act. If the atmosphere had been tense before it was now practically teeming with fear, and he felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise. He saw the stableboy pick up a bucket with sand and empty it on the dying fire, then swiftly picking up a second.

As the room fell into darkness Estel´s hearing sharpened. He could hear the muffled sobs of the children and the heavy breaths of the adults. Waiting until he could at least make out major obstacles in the deep gloom, the young man then made his way across the room towards the windows. He had almost reached them when a hand suddenly clasped his arm in a grip so tight it hurt.

"Do not venture outside, young master." The wife´s breath smelled of ale and her fear gave an edge to her words. "You shall doom us all."

"Worry not," Estel replied quietly, "all I set out to do is watch."

It was the truth. Estel could feel himself drawn into the current of fear that swept this tavern, and he angrily stemmed himself against it. Much fear, he knew, came from lack of knowledge. He wanted to see this ghost, see whether he could make out anything that would later serve him to soothe these people´s anxiety. He felt that no-one should live threatened by a tale unless it was truly rooted in reality.

Leaning against the wall next to a window, he waited. They all did. The darkness seemed to grow denser with time, and all sound was swallowed by it. Even the children grew quiet, but whether from exhaustion, comfort or terror he could not tell.

The innkeeper shifted silently next to the door, weighting his club as if judging its possible effectiveness. Estel understood his doubts and involuntarily tightened his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"There!" a breathless voice whispered, disembodied in the gloom. "I can hear him. He´s coming."

Estel strained to verify what the villager believed to have sensed. His heart seemed to grow louder the more he focused on his hearing, and he wondered whether he would be able to hear anything above its furious rhythm.

At first, he thought his own fear simply spiked his heartbeat. But then a second sound separated from the dull thudding in his chest, and he could truly hear the frantic sound of hooves hitting the ground. Steadily, like a wave riding into a bay, the sound swept closer with great speed, and Estel found himself leaning forward slightly, sweat now slicking the hilt of his weapon.

"Now," the innkeeper muttered under his breath, his eyes squeezed closed, his club pressed to his chest, "now now now…"

The sound was so close that it easily drowned out the whispered litany, and then a shadow swept past the inn. It went by so quickly that Estel dashed from his window to another, his heart in his throat.

There was a horse.

There was a rider.

There was a cape fluttering with the speed of their passing.

And then there was only the sound of hoof-beats that receded into the night.

"He went past," the innkeeper breathed roughly, "we passed his test. Stay low, let us wait."

Even though they were still waiting, huddled in a dark room, some of the tension seemed to have left with the mysterious horseman. Feet were shuffled, small coughs escaped dry throats.

Everyone seemed to relax, slowly but surely.

Everyone but Estel.

He still stood by the window, rooted to the spot. He had felt something as the rider had rushed past. An icy breeze had grazed his heart and would not leave, tugging at his awareness with insistence.

Estel knew this feeling.

It was one of his earliest and most dreaded memories.

It was also what he had sensed that day when Legolas had been bitten by a poisonous snake while alone with a five-year-old Estel.

It was a feeling that had accompanied him in his few battles against orcs at the side of the twins.

Danger was near.

The wait stretched out and the villagers became restless. "Maybe we could light a candle," a woman suggested, "just one for the babes…"

It was then that he heard it. Hoof-beats. This time coming from the opposite direction.

"No!" Estel called out, more loudly than he had intended. "No lights yet. He is coming back!"

"Silly boy, he never comes back", the innkeeper chided, "he has only passed twice now and again…" He fell silent, and so did the other villagers. There was no denying it. The sound that had just mercifully faded into the night was returning once more.

It was not passing again.

It was coming back.

"Valar have mercy!" a man sobbed brokenly.

"This has never happened before, " the innkeeper whispered in disbelief, then turned to Estel, club rising slowly. "What have you done, boy? What devilry is this?"

Turning away from the window to face the man, Estel could feel the horse drawing closer, the sound seeming impossibly loud. "I did nothing, " he retorted harshly. "Until this night I did not even know about any of this…"

He trailed off, suddenly feeling movement behind himself. He whipped around, only just catching the bulk of a horse´s shape as it slipped past the window. Hooves came to a slithering stop, and then a mighty thud shook the door.

Small cries arose from all around the young man and the innkeeper, startled, stumbled away from the door, his club slumping from his nerveless fingers.

A second thud vibrated through the walls, making the windows jingle. Then a third. Estel thought he could see dust rising from the old door when it was shaken by the blows, impossible as this would be to detect in the darkness.

No man could be this strong.

"It is the Dark Lord, "someone breathed, "he has come to get us all."

For a crazy moment Estel could believe this claim, could imagine a towering black presence hammering away at the sturdy oak door to break it down and then slay them in cold blood, effortlessly.

The moment passed quickly though. It had not been the Dark Lord on this horse. It had been a human figure. A human he could fight.

More thuds rattled the door, threatening to unhinge it. Estel could also hear a snorting sound that dripped of impatience.

Darting around the innkeeper who seemed to be frozen to the spot, the young man drew his sword and dashed for the window next to the door. Carefully, he glanced through - and found himself practically face to face with who was so insistently demanding entrance.

What he saw made his sword clatter from his hand.

"It is his horse, " he said stupidly. "Only his horse."

"Ai, he must have dismounted!" a man called out. "Maybe he has long walked through the walls and is amongst us already…"

"No!" Estel called out, snatching up his weapon. "No, listen to me, I know this horse! I know him!"

Before anybody could stop him, the young man unbolted the door and boldly stepped outside. There was a gasp from behind, and then he felt himself being shoved roughly, sending him stumbling into the solid shape of a dapple-grey stallion he had not expected to see.

Ignoring that the door was noisily bolted with no care for him, Estel threw his arms around the horse´s neck in such a wave of relief that he thought his knees would buckle.

"Mithren, what are you doing here? Where is Legolas? You did not throw him, did you? No, of course not, what am I saying…" Estel was aware he was babbling, but he could not help himself. He was so relieved. He breathed in deeply, revelling in the smell of horse and wood and – blood?

Stepping away as if he had been burned, Estel finally took in the sight of the horse. Mithren was dancing on the spot nervously, the whites showing in his eyes as he neighed. There was blood splattered along his white neck, clotting in his mane. It was obviously not his.

"By the Valar," Estel breathed, "no, that cannot be. He would not ride at night…" But Legolas would, and he knew it. The prince of Mirkwood was well-used to travelling and would move on after dusk if he thought that safety allowed it. Especially if he was in a hurry.

Turning towards the inn again, it was Estel this time who furiously knocked at the door. "Let me in!" he called. "Please! My friend, the one I was waiting for, he must be hurt!"

"It is his own fault if he travelled at night," a cold voice replied. "If you do not wish to join him, find a dark spot and hide! All this mischief will bring the ghost rider back."

Estel continued to knock, then kick at the door in frustration, but it was no use. Behind him, Mithren was getting increasingly agitated, nudging the young man´s shoulder in a clear plea for help. No, not a plea. A demand.

Estel sighed. "It is just you and me then," he told the horse. Having made up his mind, he mounted without hesitation. Whatever was out there, he would not leave Legolas to face it alone.

As he just turned to ride on, the door of the inn opened with a creak and amidst hissed curses the innkeeper´s wife stepped out, holding an object for Estel to take. "You will not go out there without a light," she said, even though her voice was laced with fear and her body trembled. "You might need it, young master." With that she turned and fled inside.

Estel looked at the simple oil lamp, thoughtfully provided with a flint. He nodded to himself, tying the object to his belt, and then rode off into the night.

The night´s darkness was heavy.

The world seemed to cower beneath its heavy blanket as if life itself was ducking its head in fear. But not Estel. He held his head high as he rode, the road flying away beneath the stallion´s steady strides.

He knew without a doubt that Mithren would take him to Legolas, and judging by what he had seen, he was sure this meant riding headlong into danger. His father´s warning loomed above him like a sword ready to fall, and he silently begged Lord Elrond´s forgiveness. He did not have a choice. He could not deny a friend in need. If he survived this, he was certain his foster father would forgive him. If not, however, he would not even be safe in the afterworld. Elrond´s wrath was legendary for a reason.

As the darkness hovered along beside him, Estel´s thoughts were drawn to the ghost rider. He had seen him, that was certain. There was more behind this legend than a mere tale, a foggy remembrance of past horrors. And yet, through all his fear, there had been something within the rider that had touched Estel with a feeling other than terror.

There was no time left to contemplate when suddenly, a source of light appeared in the distance. As if spurred on by the sight, Mithren drew a deep breath and further picked up his speed. Estel could see that they had entered the first passage of the pass, even though they had not gone up very far yet. He squinted, trying to get an idea of where the source of light was located. When he suddenly understood, he pulled the reluctant horse to a stop.

"I know, I know", he whispered when the stallion snorted in impatience, "do not worry, I have a plan." Swiftly, he took the oil lamp from his belt and lit it, then tied it securely to the horse´s side.

"You continue along the pass, " he whispered, "and I shall climb up towards the fire, surprising our enemies."

Mithren seemed to agree with the idea – or maybe he simply wanted to move on. With a rumbling neigh, he began to trot away from Estel, the lamp a bobbing beakon in the darkness. The young man could only hope that this would be diversion enough.

Aided by the fire´s light, Estel had guessed that it had been lit up towards the side of the pass road. He knew from his studies that caves had been washed out of the stone many years ago when the pass had been formed by a long gone river. Now he assumed that whoever had attacked Legolas was camping up there. And he assumed that he could overwhelm them with the help of Mithren´s diversion. And he assumed that Legolas was still alive.

He prayed that for once, all of his assumptions would turn out to be correct…

A pained scream shattered the night´s silence. Estel heard raised voices, and then a scream again. His blood ran cold. He would know this voice anywhere. Unfortunately, he had heard it scream out in pain before.

Barely registering the sound of Mithren´s neighs and his galloping hooves, Estel drew his sword and stumbled through the darkness. All ideas of stealth and plans forgotten, he rushed along, scraping his legs against rocks and nearly falling into his own blade, but never stopping, never truly faltering as his legs carried him across the distance and around a large boulder to finally see Legolas.

The blond elf was on the floor, held down by a cloaked figure that seemed to have considerable trouble keeping him still. A second shape loomed nearby, holding what looked like a white-hot knife. Legolas writhed on the ground, nearly unlocking the hold his attacker had on him, and Estel saw his chance.

Raising his sword with a shout, he charged forward. In his mind´s eye, he already saw his blade cut through his enemies´ necks, plunge into their hearts…

A sharp knock in the back made Estel stumble. He tried to catch his balance, but then a huge shape rushed past him, throwing him fully to the ground. Dazed, he tried to draw his sword out from beneath his body. His head throbbed painfully and his vision swam. As if from a distance he heard voices and then a hand touched his forehead.

He flinched and tried to bat it away but his hand was caught in a strong get gentle grip.

"Estel, baw. Aldravo gwanur-cîn." //Estel, no. Do not hit your brother.//

Elvish? Elves had tried to hurt Legolas?

Blearily opening his eyes, Estel found himself looking into a concerned face that had so often gazed upon him with worry in the past.

"Elrohir?" Estel asked, totally confused now. "What are you…Where is Legolas?!" Trying to bolt upright, Estel gasped when a furious pain shot through his head, greying his vision.

"Easy, brother, easy. All is well." He felt himself being pulled against Elrohir´s chest and slowly tried opening his eyes again when he heard a second familiar voice state dryly: "Well would not have been my choice of word, even though I generally agree."

Estel found himself smiling when Elladan came into focus, sitting across the fire with a now sleeping Legolas cradled against him. When he saw his human brother´s gaze rest on him the older twin smiled ruefully. "I am sorry we gave a – wrong impression, Estel. We heard you down on the pass road already but we had our hands full."

Straightening against Elrohir now that his mind began to clear, Estel recognized what had transpired by the broken black arrows that were lying discarded on the floor next to bloody rags and several healing supplies. "Legolas was attacked by orcs?" Estel shook his head and immediately regretted it, wincing in pain. "It was lucky for him that you came along." The young man frowned. "Both of you, even. I thought you had gone on separate missions?"

A glance passed between the twins that was so laden with implications that it should have turned visible. Instead of answering the implied question, however, Elrohir reached for the healing supplies and stated: "Now that we have stopped the orc poison from festering in Legolas´ wounds, treating your little gash will be simple enough. Hold still, brother."

Estel did, taking the opportunity to further glance around their surroundings. Now that his focus was no longer on Legolas and his perceived attackers, the young man saw several dead orcs littering the area. The fact that the twins had not yet taken care of the carcasses spoke volumes about the severity of the woodelf´s injuries. It explained why they had gone to the extreme measure of cauterising the wounds. Estel flinched at the memory of Legolas´ screams.

"Am I hurting you?" Elrohir asked gently. Elladan had not moved from his position, still holding on to Legolas with a protective possessiveness that he hardly displayed towards anyone but his brothers. "No," the young man replied. "I must be shivering from the memory of my own stupidity." He sighed when he realized how much truth was in his words. "If there had truly been enemies with Legolas, they would have two victims to torture now."

"You acted with little thought, Estel," Elrohir agreed, "but with much passion. It can give you strength but it also clouds your judgement."

"Aye," Elladan agreed, "and if this is a lesson you learned today, much was won." A slight smile played around the older twin´s lips. "It might comfort that you that Mithren would have not run you over in a real fight." The grey stallion was standing guard behind Elladan and Estel could have sworn the beast looked sheepish.

Surprised that his grave mistake did not provoke a stronger reaction from the twins the young man blurted out: "Is that all the chastising I am going to get for this?" Elrohir chuckled, if somewhat darkly, from behind him as he tightened the bandage around Estel´s head. "Nay, brother, we shall torture you with a lot more combat training once we get home. And many more lessons about tactics. Even though I must say I liked your ruse with the lamp. It might have worked, in a way." His tone grew serious. "But no more chastising now."

"Nay," Elladan agreed quietly. "Not tonight."

"Not tonight," Elrohir echoed. They looked at each other silently, and Estel could feel the emotions passing from one to the other. He had often wondered whether the twins could actually communicate without words, and tonight he felt more strongly than ever that they could.

Suddenly looking down at Legolas Elladan said: "I wonder whether we should invite him to our lesson about passion in battle, too."

"And I wonder whether we should be the ones teaching it." Elrohir took a deep breath and then looked at his human brother.

"Legolas was not attacked by these orcs, Estel. It was he who attacked them."

"What?!" Estel just caught himself before he shook his head again. There were at least twenty still bodies lying around them that he could see, and he was certain there were more hidden by the darkness. "Why would he do such a thing?"

"He was trying to protect us." Elladan´s quiet words made Estel rise in alarm. "They captured you first? Why did you not say? Are you…"

"Nay, Estel," Elrohir interfered firmly. "Listen."

When the young man nodded, settling back down again, Elladan turned and pointed behind himself. "There is a cave in these rocks," he said in a soft voice", and the orcs meant to make camp there. Legolas caught them at it. He knew that we would be here later tonight. And he feared what would become of us should we find the cave festering with the creatures."

"The ghosts of the past ride tonight," the younger twin pointed out quietly in an almost eerie reference to the way this night had begun for Estel. "Legolas meant to protect us from them."

Estel opened his mouth to question what these cryptic words meant, but then closed it again with a painful snap. He felt sadness rise in him like a tidal wave when suddenly everything began to make sense.

"This is the cave?" he asked softly. "This is were you – found her?"

"Aye." The whispered agreement came from both twins as one, and as one they bowed their heads and their eyes darkened as they travelled back through time, travelled back towards the source of their greatest pain.

"We rode like the wind that day, " Elladan said darkly, "I remember the wind on my face. I remember the way the ground flew past beneath my steed´s hooves and how I wished to make it faster still."

"It was like flying…" Elrohir whispered.

"…flying through an endless night." Elladan finished.

"We could sense her pain…"

"… yet we were powerless to stop it."

"We rode like the wind itself…"

"…but the storm beat us to her."

"We found her shell…"

"…but never retrieved her soul."

Silence fell.

Estel could almost see the images the haunted words provoked. He had been told about Celebían´s fall some time ago, and he had cried bitterly for her fate. Yet now, sitting here, it was almost as if the air reeked of her suffering and her sons´ despair. The bulk of the mountain loomed above them like fate itself, ready to swallow them.

And suddenly, so much began to make sense to Estel. The strange sadness that always befell Rivendell this time of year. The twins´ habitual absence from home at the threshold between winter and spring. Their exhaustion when they returned.

And the ghost rider.

The haunted horseman that passed through these lands at this time of year and had done so for centuries. The darkness of grief that shrouded him so tightly that the people plunged themselves into darkness when he passed by and believed him to be both conqueror of winter and harbinger of death. The horseman´s double appearances during some years when the twin´s both approached this accursed place from the west.

It all made sense and it all made Estel´s heart overflow with shared grief. Maybe one day he would tell the twins that they were ghosts in these lands. Maybe one day they could cease to be.

"So you come here to remember your mother´s plight?" Estel asked gently.

"Aye." Elladan lowered his head to Legolas´ hair and allowed his quiet tears to fall.

"Aye." Estel felt Elrohir´s arms encircle him from behind. "But not only that, brother, not only that."

He pointed towards the east, and for a long moment the human did not understand what his brother meant. It was only after a long while that he recognized the first shades of dawn glow behind the mountian´s masses.

"Even after the darkest night…"

"…there is a dawn to wake up to."

"So we come here each and every year…"

"…lest we forget."

"Aye," Estel whispered, watching the new day being born. "Lest we forget."

The end 


End file.
